Come Back Soon
by Drag0nst0rm
Summary: Being left alone at a hotel is bad. Being left alone at a hotel when you're sick is worse, but Tony's not worried. His dad will be back soon. Right? (Prequel to "The Lost Ones".)
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: PLEASE CHECK BOTTOM FOR WARNINGS.**

 **This is a oneshot prequel to my AU story "The Lost Ones". If you haven't read it, the first few sections should still make sense, but the last section may be confusing. All you really need to know about the AU is that in it, ghosts exist.**

 **If you _are_ reading "The Lost Ones", then please know that I am working on the next chapter, but I needed to get this out of my system first.**

* * *

Coming back to the hotel room to find his dad wasn't there wasn't entirely surprising, but Tony was still disappointed. He'd been hoping -

It didn't matter what he'd been hoping. It was stupid and babyish anyway.

He sneezed, his most impressive one today, and that was sort of saying something. He was still in his swim trunks, so he didn't have any sleeves to wipe his nose on. He stalked over to the bathroom and yanked half the tissues out of the box, irrationally angry.

It wasn't like his dad would have been fussing over him even if he'd been here. The only person who had ever done that was his mom, and even then, it was only when his being sick happened to coincide with one of her good days.

Still, now that Mom was . . . gone . . . maybe Dad would have at least gone out to get him some medicine or something.

Tony flopped onto the bed with his mountain of tissues and turned on the TV. He eventually landed on an old movie channel that was playing _Dracula_.

He remembered watching it with Mom. It had been a little scary, but he'd been younger then, and his dad had been annoyed when he'd caught them watching it.

 _Dracula_ it was, then.

He glanced at the clock as he settled back against the pillows. It was time for supper. That was why he'd come back from the beach. Well, that and this cold he couldn't seem to shake. If his dad wasn't here, he was just going to have to order himself some supper. Dad could get his own when he came back.

He ordered the most expensive things on the room service menu out of spite. Dad had said he would be back by now, and Tony was getting tired of broken promises.

When the food arrived, he started to regret that decision. Maybe he'd like lobster when he was older, but right now he was craving some pizza.

He picked at his food as he watched the movie. He wasn't very hungry anyway. And when had it gotten so hot in here?

He should go turn up the air conditioning, but the unit was by the window.

He eyed the dark window warily. It eyed him right back.

Tony left the light on and decided to deal with the heat.

 _Dracula_ was a bit scarier when you were watching it on your own. Just a bit.

He wiped the sweat off his forehead, annoyed with himself, and threw another tissue down on the floor. He'd deal with it in the morning. When his dad came back.

His dad _was_ coming back, right?

Of course he was. He was just late.

Really, really late.

Tony sneezed.

* * *

Tony woke up at noon feeling fuzzy headed and with so much congestion he could barely breathe.

It was really hot.

He forced himself to get up and fiddle with the air conditioning. It was already pretty cool according to the monitor. _Huh._ He changed it anyway.

It was only then that he happened to glance at his dad's bed. It was empty.

He must have come back late last night and left early this morning. Right?

Except nothing in the room was disturbed.

Had something happened to his dad?

He shoved the thought away. His dad was probably out on the beach somewhere. Tony could go find him anytime he chose.

He just didn't choose to right now. Mainly because he felt like death warmed over.

He ordered himself a pizza and settled down to watch another movie. His dad would have to come back eventually.

The knock when the pizza came startled him out of a doze. He sniffed miserably and went to go get the pizza.

He remembered his mom putting a wet cloth on his head once. Maybe that would help.

He ran some cold water over a washcloth and sat back down on the bed. It did feel pretty good. Honestly, was that air conditioner broken or what?

He only ate half the pizza, but that was all right. It would save him the trouble of calling for dinner.

* * *

Tony ached everywhere. "Mom?" he called blearily.

But Mom was gone. Not even a ghost left now. Dad said she hadn't loved them enough to stay, but Dad had been drunk when he'd said that, and Mom had always said that Sr. never meant what he said when he was drunk.

"Dad?" he tried.

Except Dad wasn't here either. It was just him and the people on the TV.

Tony liked the people on the TV. They came and went as _he_ pleased, not the other way around.

He was shivering instead of sweating now, so he burrowed under the sheets and reached weakly for another tissue.

He hoped his dad got back soon. He really didn't feel so good.

* * *

His mom was singing to him. That was nice. He liked it when she sang to him.

The people on the TV were talking to him too. He couldn't quite make out what they were saying, but he wished they'd go get him some ice or something.

Something heavy was laying on top of him. Like a really big pancake or something. Why was there a pancake on him? He tried to push it off, but his arms just flopped. Why didn't his mom get it?

Then the people on the TV explained it was for the show, so that was okay.

Wait a minute. That didn't make sense. He tried to sit up. It was the comforter, not a pancake. Where had that come from?

He collapsed back against the pillow. He should call someone. _Could you call room service if you were sick?_

He didn't know, and he was too tired to figure it out. Maybe he could do that later. He should just sleep it off. He was a DiNozzo, after all. DiNozzo's were strong. He would shake it in no time.

That settled, he went back to sleep.

* * *

It was hot and cold and everything hurt.

He tried to call for his dad, but he couldn't quite get the words out, and it probably wouldn't have mattered anyway.

* * *

Anthony DiNozzo Sr. hurried to his hotel room. Leaving Junior alone for that long had been unfortunate, but he could hardly have told Eliza that he couldn't come with her to the resort because his kid was waiting. Not when the widow had been that rich and that lovely. Junior was an independent kid. He'd probably enjoyed himself.

He slid the key card in and walked in.

What was that smell? Had the bathroom backed up?

Then he saw Tony bundled under the covers and the wetness on the sheets. He sighed and wrinkled his nose. For crying out loud, Junior was what, ten now? Eleven? He was too old for this sort of mess.

"Junior?" he called in annoyance.

Tony didn't answer. He walked over and prodded Tony's shoulder, careful not to touch the disgusting sheets.

Tony was surprisingly stiff. And cold.

"Junior?"

He could have sworn he heard something and he felt a moment of hope. "Junior?"

Tony wasn't breathing.

Stiff. Cold. He hadn't been breathing for a while.

Senior stumbled back and sat on the other bed.

He was all alone.

His mind went blank for a few minutes.

Think. He had to think.

Junior'd been sick. More sick than he'd realized, evidentially.

He wasn't going to get infected, was he?

No, of course not. It had just been a cold anyway, maybe the flue. It shouldn't have been dangerous.

It wasn't his fault, obviously. But . . . But not everyone would see it that way. He'd have to do something.

Report him missing, maybe. He'd have to be careful when and how, but he could work with missing.

Except that meant first he'd have to deal with this.

* * *

No one payed much attention to the man rolling his suitcase out into the garden. It was late enough that anyone out and about was either exhausted or drunk. Probably both.

There weren't any cameras in this part of the garden, and the dirt was loose.

As much as he hated manual labor, there wasn't anything else for it.

Senior got to work.

He tried not to think too hard about what he was doing.

It mostly worked.

Mostly.

As for the rest, well, that was what the alcohol was for.

* * *

Tony almost chased after his dad when he walked away, but no. This wasn't his fault. His dad could be the one to come apologize this time.

Tony sat down on the garden bench and stared after his dad stubbornly. He determinedly didn't look at the hastily smoothed over dirt nearby.

His dad would come back. Tony just had to wait for him. He'd come back to the room after all, just a little later than Tony would have liked. He'd come back here too, and Tony would be right here, ready to meet him. He'd come back, and he'd be so sorry that he hadn't been there and that he'd been ignoring Tony these past few hours that he'd be the perfect dad ever after. It'd all be worth it then.

He just had to wait.

Even if it was taking a little longer than he'd expected.

* * *

 **Warning: Contains the death of a child.**


	2. Chapter 2

This is how it started:

Tony'd made a habit out of hiding out in the lobby in the hopes of spotting a kid that could see him. Jason was the first in months.

He was a shy kid, and he was wary at first like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, but Tony got him talking soon enough. Tony was good at that.

Jason wanted to show Tony his new Nintendo. They chattered all the way up to his room and took turns playing on it for hours. Jason liked books more than movies, but Tony was long past making distinctions like _nerd_ or _jock_. He just needed someone to talk to.

* * *

This is how it should have ended:

They should have played till it got late, and Tony knew Jason's dad would be returning soon. Tony should have left and returned in the morning. They should have had a fun few days together, Jason relieved not to be bored, Tony relieved to have company. Jason should have left in good spirits. Tony should have gone back to the lobby to begin the cycle all over again.

* * *

This is how it actually ended:

Tony'd learned a lot about Jason because it was easier to get people talking about themselves than to make up a story about his own life. He knew Jason's dad was in the Navy and wasn't particularly high up, but that Jason's mother had been rich. He'd learned that Jason's dad hadn't been the same after she died, and he'd seen a _look_ on Jason's face when he said it.

Tony knew that look, and he knew that story. If Jason started coughing, then it would be _his_ story.

Tony planned to leave a bit early to avoid the possibility of running into Jason's dad, but early turned out to not be early enough. Jason's dad came stumbling into the room at three o'clock, and he was already drunk.

Not so drunk that he didn't notice his son talking to thin air, though.

* * *

This is what Ducky told Gibbs later:

Someone had hit Jason repeatedly. Three ribs had broken, and one had punctured a lung. He had also fallen and experienced severe trauma to his skull.

Someone had hit Jason's father over the head with a lamp. He had fallen and had hit his head again. The combined blows had been too much.

Based on the bruising on Jason's father's knuckles and the force behind the blows, Ducky was reasonably certain that Jason's death could be pinned on his father. He was less certain who had killed him in turn.

* * *

This is what the other guests told Gibbs:

They'd heard shouting. Most had heard two voices, one angry and one afraid. A few had heard three.

There had been a loud thump and then a crash.

They had not gone to investigate. They felt it wasn't their business.

* * *

This is what no one knew but Tony:

He hadn't known how else to stop the man, so he'd run for one of the hotel lamps. He'd yanked it out of the wall, cord and all, but he hadn't been tall enough to use it, so he'd jumped onto one of the beds. From there, he'd crashed it over Jason's father's head.

He didn't know his name. Jason, naturally, had always called him "Dad".

He hadn't expected the man to stay down long, so he'd run to Jason so they could get out of there before he got up.

Jason had been breathing funny. He hadn't looked good at all.

He had looked scared.

"You've got to get up, Jason, come on," he'd said frantically.

Jason's lips had looked kind of blue, but it was hard to tell with one of the lamps lying broken on the floor.

Tony had felt strange, energy coursing through him like adrenaline used to.

It had felt good.

"Jason! Jason, come on!" He'd glanced over at Jason's dad.

That was when he had realized there actually wasn't any hurry, and he had nearly panicked all over again.

"Okay. Okay, take your time. We've got time. You're gonna be fine." He had to be strong. Jason needed help.

He'd just _killed_ somebody. This was bad, this was really bad, he hadn't meant to, but this was really, really, really bad, only bad people did something like this -

"Jason? Jason!"

* * *

This is what Tony figured out later:

He'd starting running in a blind panic. A few hallways down, he'd passed a maid, one he'd passed a dozen times before.

"Are you all right?" she'd called after him.

She'd never seen him before.

He'd curled up in one of his favorite hiding spots and sobbed. He'd killed someone. Only bad ghosts did that. Dangerous ghosts. He'd wished he could be someone, _anyone,_ else.

His body had shifted without his quite meaning for it too. He'd started crying even harder, and it had slid back into its usual place.

Jason was dead, and it was his fault. He'd killed someone, he was a _monster,_ and they would definitely be calling for hunters from the mainland now.

What kind of person was he that could even be thinking about that?

* * *

This is what Tony told the McGeek in his weekly email:

 _Something bad's happened. The police are checking out the hotel. Everything will probably be fine, but I just wanted you to know in case you had been thinking about coming back for a visit. I might not be able to talk for a while. They're looking into everything, and the last thing I want is for them to see a computer using itself and look into what it was doing._

 _Don't worry if you don't hear from for a while, okay? You know me, I can handle whatever they throw at me. I might have to leave, but I'll be fine wherever I end up, even if it's a place without a computer._

 _But, hey, you know all about that, right? I'm sorry you had to move out of the house, but if your family was hiring hunters, you made the right call._

 _Look, I know I don't normally say stuff like this, but just in case it's a while before we can talk again, I want to tell you that I know you can do it. Someday, your dad's going to tell you how proud he is of you._

 _Be safe, McGoo._

* * *

This is what Tony meant:

 _I've done something bad. I'm pretty sure they're going to salt me. I'm not ready to pass on, and I'm really scared, but I can't tell you that. Don't worry about me. That's not your job._

 _Be safe, McWhatever. It's been really nice to have a friend._


	3. Chapter 3

"Are you here about Jason?" Tony was pretty sure if McCautious could see him right now, he'd be yelling his head off. For that matter, _Tony_ wasn't sure this was a good idea.

But. Well. Better to go out in a blaze of glory and all that.

He was expecting the agent to snap at him. He'd been pretty harsh with the manager. He was surprised when the guy crouched down to his eye level instead and spoke surprisingly gently. "NCIS Special Agent Gibbs. Did you know Jason?"

He looked down. "We talked. Before . . . " He trailed off. "I'm Tony, by the way." He looked around. "Where's your backup? In the movies, all the agents have a partner with them."

"Mine got sick."

"That stinks."

Gibbs shrugged like he didn't mind so much.

"What if a bad guy sneaks up behind you and there's no one there to watch your back?" Tony insisted.

"You think there's a lot of bad guys here?"

That kind of depended on your definition, but there weren't many people likely to sneak up on Special Agent Gibbs, no. Still. He'd had a great idea.

A c _razy_ idea. "I could be your backup. Just in case."

"Well, if you're my backup, that means your partner. And partners have to share what they know about the case. Can you tell me about Jason?"

Okay, so this was even a worse idea than he thought, but if an agent _had_ to come, if he _had_ to get salted, he didn't want to spend his last few days hiding in the walls. He wanted to go out with style, like James Bond would.

And while he couldn't afford to tell Gibbs about the case, he could tell him plenty about Jason. _Someone_ needed to know about him. Someone needed to remember him. Jason deserved that much, at least.


End file.
